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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22721506">Sidestep</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae'>leporidae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkwardness, Dancing, M/M, Pre-Time Skip, School Dances, Self-Worth Issues, Teasing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 15:55:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22721506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t know why he cares this much, or why it’s so painful to see Ignatz shrinking away from social events, from the <i>world,</i> when there’s so much he could offer to so many people.</p><p>And offer to Sylvain, but, well — that’s energy better spent on someone else.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sylvain Jose Gautier/Ignatz Victor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>121</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sidestep</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyakunana/gifts">Hyakunana</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sylvain is right at home at Garreg Mach’s ball.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swaps between partners on the dance floor with ease, each fleeting encounter casual as an afternoon stroll. Some of them have cold hands and others warm; some wear too much lipstick and others too much mascara; some have straightened their hair and others have curled it. Each face is forgotten with each turnabout, though certainly everyone remembers Sylvain Jose Gautier and his </span>
  <em>
    <span>illustrious </span>
  </em>
  <span>noble whimsy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a particularly </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleasant</span>
  </em>
  <span> comfort, but it’s comfortable nonetheless. His own voice blends in with the thrum of strangers’ voices as he dances without much passion but with the technical precision House Gautier had taught him to prepare him for his “noble duties.” (Those duties of course all boil down to one goal: charming, marrying, and producing Crest-laden children with whichever noblewoman has the misfortune of being permanently hitched to him. Dancing is simply a frilly means to that clinical end.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his sour thoughts, the ball isn’t without its perks. Just several minutes earlier Sylvain had laughed to the point of tears watching the evolution of Felix’s disgruntlement as a shy girl from a different class asked him for a dance. Too shocked to say no, Felix had stumbled onto the dance floor red-faced and scowling and proceeded to move to the music with the grace of a rampaging Demonic Beast, all the while glowering over the girl’s shoulder at Sylvain enjoying the spectacle. Though Sylvain is sure Felix will kick his shins later for ogling the pathetic display, the memory is still priceless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain had already danced with practically every woman he could get his hands on — without being slapped, anyway. Now he is simply playing the role of an observer, leaning against the back wall and watching with a bemused smirk the procession of awkward teenage courtships playing out all around him. It may have even been cute, if it wasn’t so fabricated and vapid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud sniffle beside him causes him to turn his head, and with a smirk Sylvain sees Manuela stumbling over to him, cheeks ruddy and legs barely stable in her tall heels. One whiff of the air around her is all Sylvain needs to know she is drunk. True to form, she must have snuck alcohol into the student dance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain,” Manuela moans. “Everyone’s having fun. All these young people dancing together… I missed my shot, haven’t I? I’ve lost my charm. It’s over for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain attempts what he hopes comes across a sympathetic expression. “I disagree. You haven’t lost your charm at all,” he says smoothly, taking Manuela’s hand in his own and bringing it to his lips with a cheeky wink. “Perhaps you’d like to go somewhere private and prove me right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in her inebriated state, Manuela swats his hand away with a growl. “Absolutely — absolutely not, Sylvain. You’re my — my teacher? I think? It’s inappropriate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain snorts. “I think you’re a little confused, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Professor Manuela. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But all right, all right. I get the picture.” From across the hall he spots a familiar stern face patrolling the hall for misconduct, and a devious smile curls his lips. “Why don’t you ask Seteth to dance?” he says with fake innocence. “Surely even he could use some fun in his life. What better person to show him a good time than you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A good time?” Manuela slurs. “Oh, good idea. Seteth!” she shouts, and he snaps his head towards her with horror. “Seteth, dance with me! No time like the present!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still snickering, Sylvain slips away, not wanting his fun ruined by one of Seteth’s lectures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are still plenty of other girls eyeing him hungrily from across the hall, ready to sink their claws into him, pulling him into the crowd to dance with his status and Crest. Many of the boys from other classes are eyeing him too, but mostly with distaste; Ashe is constantly glancing over at Sylvain with a furrowed brow to make sure he isn’t causing trouble; and Lorenz seems to be one-sidedly competing with him in the game of courtship, keeping tabs on who he has and hasn’t danced with. It’s all a bit exhausting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Off to the side stands Ignatz Victor of the Golden Deer, fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeves as his nervous gaze follows the dancing crowd. Sylvain doesn’t know why he approaches him, or why he’s even interested. He had exchanged pleasantries about art with Ignatz once — only once. Yet the interaction had lingered in his memories as a pleasant one, and that’s not something Sylvain can say about most of his memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not interested in dancing, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz jolts. “O-oh, um — hello, Sylvain. I haven’t had much practice, so I probably wouldn’t be any good.” He smiles up at Sylvain, unconvincing. “But you’re quite the dancer, Sylvain." <em>He was watching me?</em> "Did you take lessons as a child? I saw a bit of your footwork earlier, and you have very good posture. I was hoping maybe I could do a few sketches — ah, only if it’s not too strange — actually, forget I even —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz squeaks. “Ah, I’m sorry I presumed —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain sighs, somehow loud enough to interrupt Ignatz’s characteristic negative spiral. “I mean, I don’t mind if you draw me some other time. Have you seen all </span>
  <em>
    <span>this?</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’d be a great model.” Ignatz doesn’t even crack a smile when Sylvain gestures to himself, and he coughs sheepishly. “...Anyway, I can’t stand to see you huddled up in the corner at a time like this. It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>ball,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ignatz — a once in a lifetime social event that will stick with you even after you graduate. You should be dancing, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I — I can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter if you know technique. You can just sway a little, even if you don’t have rhythm, nobody’s going to —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz shakes his head rapidly. “No, no, it’s. Um. It’s not about the dancing, it’s — there’s just so many people.” As the words leave his lips he pales slightly. “I don’t think I could even move with this many people watching. I think I’d be frozen in place.” Ignatz’s nervous chuckle isn’t enough to hide his shame, and Sylvain begins to regret his flippant words. “That certainly would be a depressing sight during a dance, wouldn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think anyone would judge you,” Sylvain says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz sighs, his shoulders deflating. He looks even smaller than usual this way. “That’s kind of you, Sylvain. But — I just can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want this guy to have some fun.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The thought surprises Sylvain, but watching Ignatz shrink up against the wall, that self-conscious anxiety etched all across his face, gives him the inexplicable urge to do something for Ignatz — something </span>
  <em>
    <span>positive,</span>
  </em>
  <span> even. “Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t we go outside? It’s way too noisy in here, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz brightens immediately at the suggestions. “R-really? I didn’t know you felt that way, too. I thought you liked these kinds of gatherings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waves off the comment. “Only to a certain extent. But even an <em>insuppressible</em> partier like me appreciates some good peace and quiet now and again. Maybe stepping out for a bit will take your mind off the crowd, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz just nods, trailing behind Sylvain as he ducks away from the crowd and steps outside into the chilly evening. It had been almost pathetically easy to get Ignatz to follow him this far, and he shouldn’t take advantage of the other’s desperation to escape from the dance. But Sylvain doesn't stop when he should, instead continuing to walk through the courtyard with the soft patter of Ignatz’s steps behind him, and reaches a place he had never intended to visit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Th-this is the Goddess Tower, Sylvain,” Ignatz says timidly. “Um. You know, the legend —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain just laughs. “Yeah, I know. But there’s also no one here right now, so it’s as good a place as any, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He claps a hand on Ignatz’s shoulder. “To dance. You said you didn’t want people watching, right? Now you can dance to your heart’s content.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz is clearly horrified by the suggestion. “What — ?! B-but what if the Goddess actually shows up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a purehearted fantasy, Sylvain thinks. He almost feels sorry for the guy for being stuck here with him, but — he’s also </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sylvain, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that in turn means that he’s obligated to cause a little trouble. With an exaggerated sigh he takes Ignatz’s hand in his own. “I think the Goddess has better things to do than watch us dance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“U-us?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, why not?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>What am I doing,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sylvain thinks hysterically, but he’s already gone this far, and with each tease he finds himself falling further into a pitfall he can't climb out of. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Why should everyone else be having fun dancing and not you? Maybe your fancy footwork will be so good that you'll seduce the Goddess right here on the spot. You never know!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain!” Ignatz yelps, scandalized. “I can’t dance with you. I’m —” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not a woman,</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what Sylvain is expecting him to say. What Ignatz says instead is, “—no good at dancing, I already told you this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Sylvain says, a bit more gently. “It’s just me, and my reputation is already worse than yours could ever be from a little inexperienced dancing. What’s the big deal?” He tilts his head to the side in mock contemplation. “Or maybe that’s the reason you’re deterred? You’re afraid someone will walk by and see you cavorting with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>scoundrel.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head so insistently that Sylvain is surprised the glasses don’t fly off his face. “N-no, I don’t think you’re a scoundrel, Sylvain! Not at all. I just… I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t judge,” Sylvain reassures him. “It’s all in good fun. Say, if it makes you feel better, I can try to paint something later and you can critique it to shreds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly, Ignatz actually laughs at that one, a good sign that he’s managed to relax at least a little. “I wouldn’t do that, Sylvain. I don’t even think I’m qualified to critique, really — it’s just a hobby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say.” The conversation will loop endlessly if it continues — Sylvain encouraging Ignatz, who in turn will brush off his words with excessive humility — so he instead takes the opportunity to tug Ignatz closer (</span>
  <em>
    <span>ah, they’d been holding hands this entire time</span>
  </em>
  <span>) and place his other palm against the small of his back. Ignatz jumps with the touch, but Sylvain pats him encouragingly. “Hey, relax. I’m sure the Goddess has better things to do than watch us screw around.” He’d meant to say watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>; there’s an odd weight to the thought of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>us,</span>
  </em>
  <span> especially here at the Goddess Tower, where </span>
  <em>
    <span>us</span>
  </em>
  <span> carries a terrifying extra gravity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d brought Ignatz to the Goddess Tower to be cheeky, right? Just a classic Sylvain-esque brand of jest — and yet even so, this scene he has created it weighs heavy, a raw ache like the blow of a lance against his chest. Even just speaking to Ignatz is akin to holding a brittle glass object in clumsy hands, where even the slightest mishap could threaten to shatter him beyond repair. Sylvain has gained many a perverse satisfaction watching shallow women fall to anguish as a result of his callous behavior and merciless words, but just the thought of doing anything remotely close to Ignatz churns his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“U-um.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear Ignatz swallow audibly. “I — I don’t know where to put my other hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoulder is fine,” Sylvain says, and then because he can’t resist the tease adds, “or if you’re feeling really bold, you can put it on my ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sylvain!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the yelp of protest, Ignatz’s hand alights on his shoulder, and Sylvain laughs. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's quiet for a beat. "What now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now we dance,” Sylvain says with a shrug. “I mean, there’s not music to follow or anything, but then you can at least <em>say</em> you danced a little, and that the ball wasn’t a total bust, right?” He doesn’t know why he </span>
  <em>
    <span>cares</span>
  </em>
  <span> this much, or why it’s so painful to see Ignatz shrinking away from social events, from the </span>
  <em>
    <span>world</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when there’s so much he could offer to so many people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And offer to Sylvain, but, well — that’s energy better spent on someone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a distracted step back, expecting Ignatz to follow his lead, but the sudden movement without warning startles his partner. Ignatz trips, and the hand formerly on his shoulder shoots forward, grabbing Sylvain’s shirt to regain his balance. But instead of readjusting and straightening to try again, Ignatz just </span>
  <em>
    <span>freezes</span>
  </em>
  <span> there, as if their sudden increased proximity has paralyzed him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Laugh it off, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sylvain reprimands himself. Ignatz, with his glasses a bit askew and a dusting of blush on his cheeks, clinging to the fabric of Sylvain’s shirt with desperate hands to hold his unsteady body upright — is actually quite cute, in that clumsy, nervous way of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain doesn’t laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Ignatz mumbles, voice laden with guilt, but he doesn’t let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the part where Sylvain should gently push him away with an unaffected laugh and help him get his bearings, but with Ignatz pressed to his chest, he finds himself unable to do anything at all. “It’s all right,” Sylvain says (he wants the words to sound flippant, and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>), “no one’s watching.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t belong here,” Ignatz says suddenly, and Sylvain can feel his fingers trembling against his shirt. “Nobles, and dancing, and all the fighting… I just want to go home.” There’s fear in his voice, more profound than simply the homesickness of a frightened child. “Sometimes I just want to run away, and I wonder... w-would anyone even notice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Sylvain says sternly, and Ignatz looks up, not quite crying but eyes glassy nonetheless. “You’re right, Ignatz. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> belong here. You’re way too nice to be thrown in with the rest of us.” He strokes Ignatz’s hair once to comfort him — then retracts his hand quickly, wondering where the hell the instinct had even come from. Sylvain, a comforting presence? What a joke. “Don’t go vanishing on us, okay? People like you make this school —” and this world, he doesn’t say — “a little less shitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re just saying that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want me to do, sing it?” When Ignatz scowls, Sylvain laughs. “I mean it. Who cares if you’re not a good dancer? Every noble can dance. It’s really not very special.” He winks, and immediately regrets it, because it makes the words feel disingenuous  — but Sylvain </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean it, and he wants Ignatz to </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe</span>
  </em>
  <span> he means it. “Not all nobles can paint, though. So in that regard you’re more talented than most of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz is silent for a while. Slowly he lets go of Sylvain’s hand and takes a step away, contemplating him with a surprisingly calm expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for taking  time for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words surprise him; Ignatz is speaking as though Sylvain is someone worthy of gratitude at all, when he’d only dragged Ignatz out here to escape his own responsibilities and entertain himself. Either Ignatz is unaware of his motivations or is choosing to ignore them, both options that give Sylvain far too much credit. “You should be careful about falling for me, buddy. You’ll have to fight off girls day and night. It’ll be a rough life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sylvain, I’m being serious.” Ignatz speaks the words with exasperation, not timidity, and Sylvain finds himself enjoying this flavor of Ignatz, the one with grit and backbone to him. “But, um, sorry I was so terrible at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, giving up already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz flushes. “I think I’ve had enough for one evening. But, um. Maybe some other time, we could…” He trails off, gaze dropping to the ground. “Never mind. I wouldn’t want to waste even more of your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? I’m all ears. We could what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s — it’s nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignatz had almost asked to continue this at a later date, hadn’t he? What an unexpected moment of boldness from him — that is, if he had actually managed to get the words out. Sylvain wants to press him for details, but he begrudgingly has to admit to himself that he’s tormented Ignatz enough for one evening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to, um, go back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sylvain manages a smile. “Yeah, sure. Maybe we’ll even be lucky enough to catch the tail end of Professor Manuela causing a drunken scene. That’d be fun, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...If you say so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s probably better this way, Sylvain thinks. They can cut off this interaction before it grows into something unmanageable, like a real </span>
  <em>
    <span>friendship,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Goddess forbid. The less they interact, the easier it will be to shield Ignatz from the inevitable disappointment that follows a relationship with Sylvain Jose Gautier.</span>
</p><p>Still, he finds himself wishing Ignatz had asked.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For <a href="https://twitter.com/HyakunanaArts">Polux</a> who inhabits the tiny island of sylnatz with me as we dive into the dumpster together. Thanks for having galaxy brain taste and loving Ignatz.</p><p>  <s>Now go get some rest, smh.</s></p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/gelatobear/status/1239350815698980864">Renée/gelatobear</a> on twitter drew this impossibly soft art based on this fic that makes me feel so warm, thank you for this gift.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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